Crush
by TenderWild
Summary: Miracles don't happen.


Cold.

It woke her before the pain did.

Cold glass was against her cheek, tiny fractures in the glass pricking her skin. Through the steam of her breath she watched rain wriggle down the glass.

She moved her head, turned it slightly.

Twisted metal, broken glass etched in silvers and red.

Her head flopped back again, and she shuddered.  
She remembered now.

Metal arced over her head, twisted from the grill of the car that had T-boned hers. In front sneered the car couldn't dodge into time as she was swept into oncoming traffic.  
A split second of destruction.

It was quiet, but for the rain, and her own choking breath. She tried to move, but the rest of her is not listening.

_

* * *

It's raining outside. _

"_There's no such thing as fate, coincidence, pre-ordered."_

_His voice is bitter.  
__House is in his chair, and for once his hands are empty. There is blood still stuck in his cuticles, and Cameron knows there is a stain across her face because she can feel it burning._

_In surgery, their patient is dying._

_There is nothing Cameron can do, so she questions. But there is no diety that's listening, there is only House. _

"_So what is there?"_

* * *

Her legs are crushed. 

No, crushed didn't cover it; Splintered, snapped, twisted and bent like the steel imbedded in her flesh.  
They were numb, disconnected; distantly she knew her spine had been damaged, but the rest of her was too tired to care just yet.

Rain was starting to leak through the ceiling, dripping like ice onto her shoulder. It was distracting.

It ran like cold fingers down her back, abruptly vanishing at her waist.

She wondered how it could be that one little drop kept her attentions. Not the grinning metal bender of the car half mounted on top of hers, twisted teeth hovering just above her face. She could see the head of the man inside, lolled at an unnatural angle, shivering in the haze of rain.

In the silence, she could do nothing but breathe, and wonder at the numbness that drifted below her waist.

_

* * *

He shrugs. _

"_There are accidents. Mistakes."_

_She finds a tissue, scrubs her face. Something smears._

"_You would rather have your life ruled by chaos?"  
__She is incredulous. _

_He smirks.  
_"_Better than thinking someone is out to get you."_

* * *

Distantly, she heard wailing.  
Maybe there was someone in the car on her right.  
Or Ambulance?  
Yes, that's an ambulance. No human can scream for that long. 

Her mind was drifting, distant; pain was starting to spark up her leg. Like a cramp, or a sore muscle…

_An infarction?_

She wonders where House is now. For her sake, he had better not have left the hospital. She'll need him soon.

_Then again_, she thinks as she slumps further forward, _maybe not_.

There is the groan of metal; the car slides further, metal crushing down across her midsection and legs.

There is a snap, and she hopes it wasn't bone.

The man slides forward out of the car on top of hers, lying across her windscreen. His face is inches from hers, only the fractured windscreen between them.  
She closes her eyes, tasting bile with blood. God, she wants to get out of here. It's a panic that's held down only by concussion.

There's only two ways out, and one of them mightn't get here in time.

She can hear the keening of a fire engine now, though she doesn't know how she can tell the difference.

She raises her hand, touches the ache on the side of her face and feels glass.

The screaming of sirens is hideous; she can see red and blue lights flashing like a maelstrom against her eyes.

It's choked out.  
But silence doesn't come back; too much noise. Engines, people.

Light cuts through the window, and she sees every tiny fracture etched in silver and blood. Her eyes snap shut and she shrinks back.

God, her head hurts.

There's a bang against the glass of her window, and it finally shatters.  
Rough voice, rough hands. They think she's dead, because a gloved finger is jabbing for a pulse at her throat.  
She tries to knock the hand away, but all she manages to do is grip the hard hand in weak fingers.  
"Hey, live one in this car!" The hand moves back, but a thumb keeps her holding her wrist.  
Huge hands…  
"Hey, you awake? Stay with me, we're gonna get you out."

Her eyes open, forces shut again by blinding white light.

Too much sound after the silence now; she wants to cower, but the tiniest movement makes her want to scream.

"Stay away for me. What's your name?"

She tries to speak, but she chokes and coughs out dark blood.

"Hey, where's that paramedic! Don't worry, we've got you."

* * *

"_So that's it. We're alone, there's nothing else after life."_

_Her voice is flat._

"_No."_

"_How can you be sure?"  
__House is tired of her questions, of her insistence._

_He never wanted to have to think about this._

* * *

Banging, the shriek of metal. She hears the body of the man being dragged from her windscreen.  
Surely this is too much noise.  
The metal beneath her shoulders wobbles, and she opens her eyes. 

Black, gloved hands.

The fireman rips the metal away, peeling back the door. She slumps, then gasps as her spine pops.

The numbness is gone.

She feels it. Slowly.

Then she's crying, sounds that are horrible even to her.

She understands, now, that she has been crushed from the midsection downward, that her legs are bent and snapped and broken.

She feels it. Every single rivet, every jagged piece of metal entwined with her legs.

The fireman's speaking, soothing. But she can't hear, can only feel.

A fireman's arm is across her chest, reaching to cut away the seatbelt as another tries to work out where her legs end and the metal begins. And all that time hideous screech of metal.

She sobs and prays for unconsciousness, for death, for something to make it stop.

* * *

"_What about miracles, lights after death?"  
__  
House knows of these, because he's had them before.  
_"_They're overrated."  
__Yes, they were.  
__  
Still are._

* * *

A high-pitched whine; it's the car this time, not her.

She is released to flop against cold road glittering with raindrops and glass.

The rain is a shock. She gasps and half curls.

Two arms under her armpits drag her back; rain pours down her face and under her collar. An oxygen mask is dragged across her face, and she coughs at the bitter gas.

The pressure at her left temple lessens. She's dizzy.

"She's bleeding out, put pressure on the abdomen…"

She opens her eyes, and all she sees is lights.

* * *

Next time she wakes up, machines are screaming.

A tube is down her throat, she's half-naked and delirious with pain. She opens her eyes, and surgery lights boils into her sockets. The tube begins to choke.

Voices are shouting, and she'd wished they'd just shut up for a second. Her head hurts so much.

There is an agonizing jolt somewhere passed her waist, and she jerks. Hands hold her down, but panic and pain drive away all reason- she fights against them.

"Cameron. Stop moving."

Blue eyes stare down from a face dark with shadows, and she is suddenly motionless.

She sees fear in those eyes.

House is scared.

Suddenly, she is terrified.

A hand with callouses rubbed hard by a cane slips between her fingers. It's a strong hold, like an anchor. Her fingers curl, and that's all she can return.

Don't leave, help me! The words are caught in the tube, sobbing breaths come instead.

"I'm here."

Black starts to collect at the corners of her vision, and she shudders.

The hand still holds hers, even after the grip has become limp.

* * *

_"I don't believe you."_

_He frowns, annoyed despite himself._

_"What do you think?"_

_"I think there's not just emptiness."_

_"Suit yourself. Everyone else knows the truth."_

_Away, on the operating table, the patient dies._

_Miracles don't happen._

* * *

There had been a pile-up. 

Ten cars.

Nineteen people.

Seven survivors. Twelve dead.

Cameron had been number nine. The other three had died later in hospital.

They said it was a miracle she lasted as long as she did, being at the epicentre.

Miracle.

House is bent over, head slowly sinking. There's blood in his cuticles again, he only just washed them...

Yes, miracles were overrated.

Because it's never the one you want.


End file.
